


Clumsy

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Craig patched Tweek up after a bad encounter with some stairs.A series of Creek ficlets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving these over from FF and rewriting some of them, so it might be a while before they're all posted.

Craig pressed another band aid over Tweek's leg and shook his head.

"How the hell did you even fall down the stairs?" He asked, peeling open another one.

"I don't know, man! Maybe a g-ghost pushed me, maybe my house is haunted! Holy shit, Craig, do you think my house is haunted?" Tweek asked, jerking and almost kneeing Craig in the face.

He sighed and caught the Tweek’s leg, holding it still so he could put the last bandage in place.

"Yeah, the ghost's name is Tweek, and he likes to fall down stairs and kick his boyfriend in the face. He's really bad at haunting, too."

"What? Are you saying I'm dead? A-am I dead, Craig? Did I fall down the stairs and hit my head and _d-die?_ " Tweek looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack now, and Craig scolded himself for saying something so stupid.

"No, Tweek, you're not dead. Dead people can't bleed, can they?" He said, gently rubbing his thumb against one of the many band aids adorning his boyfriend's leg.

"O-oh. No, I guess not."

Tweek looked sheepish now, and Craig hummed contentedly and stood up, holding his hand out.

"Wanna go watch Red Racer reruns?" He asked.

Tweek nodded and took his hand, and they headed downstairs. Craig watched him carefully this time, making sure that if he fell down the stairs again – which wouldn’t be surprising – he’d at least be able to catch him.

Once they were settled on the couch, Tweek said, "Y'know, it's k-kinda funny."

"What?"

"I'm always putting band aids on you, a-after you get into fights. It's sorta like, you're repaying the favor."

Craig rolled his eyes and slouched lower on the couch, "I don't get into fights that often." He mumbled.

"Y-you do too! You got into one last week, with Stan, because-"

He placed his hand over Tweek's mouth, grimacing when he felt a tongue running over his fingers. He kept his hand in place however, and Tweek, seeming to sense he wasn't going to move it, said, "Take your hand off m-my mouth, asshole." His voice was muffled, and Craig was almost tempted to laugh.

"Only if you say... "Craig's the best"."

"Craig's the best." Tweek's muffled voice said. As soon as Craig removed his hand, he quickly added, "At being a d-douchebag."

He wiped his hand on his jeans and rolled his eyes again. "Quiet, Red Racer's on."


	2. Chapter 2

When Tweek first heard the tap on his window, he thought it was Them, finally coming for him. Who were They? Well, he wasn't exactly sure at this point – there were so many people out to get him by now – but he knew it was _someone_.

He stifled a sound of panic and threw himself out of bed, scrambling to shove himself into the small space between it and the floor. It wasn't easy, with all the shit he was constantly stuffing down here, and a small part of his mind noted that he needed to clean it soon.

There was another tap at the window, and Tweek curled in on himself. Maybe now that he was hidden They would give up.

Ten minutes later, with the taps coming more insistently now, he'd given up all hope of Them leaving him alone. He shifted, kicking a pile of clothes to make room for his legs. He was starting to cramp up, and it was getting very hard to stay quiet.

Suddenly, from above, he heard a buzzing. His phone, he realized. He also came to the realization that the tapping had stopped and breathed a sigh of relief, also releasing the string of noises he'd been holding back.

He pulled himself from beneath his bed and glanced at the window; nothing there.

He grabbed his phone from its space on his cluttered nightstand. It was Craig, and he answered immediately.

"Ngh – hello?"

"Are you awake?" Craig asked.

"Yeah, w-why?" Tweek said, flopping down on his bed.

"Why didn't you answer me?"

"W-what are you talking about? Did you call earlier?"

"No – the window, asshole. I've been trying to get you to open your window for like fifteen minutes."

"T-that was you?" Tweek screeched, clamping a hand over his mouth almost immediately after. He pulled his phone from his ear and listened for a moment, but heard nothing.

"You douchebag, I thought s-someone was out there trying to g-get in." He hissed, careful to keep his voice down this time.

"Someone is trying to get in. Me. It's freezing out here." Craig said.

Tweek glanced at his clock; it was two in the morning. Two in the morning, and Craig was throwing rocks or something at his window, asking to come in as if it _wasn't_ two fucking a.m. on a school night.

"Ugh, fine, I'll b-be down in a minute," he grumbled, hanging up and throwing his phone down before creeping into the hallway.

He glanced down the hall, towards his parent bedroom. His parents’ door was shut, and the house was silent. They normally didn't mind Craig spending the night, of course, but they probably wouldn't appreciate him dropping by this late at night – or early in the morning. Whatever.

Tweek crept down the stairs and unlocked the front door. Craig was standing on the porch, wearing nothing but pajamas, boots, and his hat. His hands were tucked under his armpits and his teeth were chattering audibly.

"W-where's your coat? You're gonna get sick and d-die, dude!" Tweek said, moving out of the way so Craig could come in.

"At home. I'll be fine. Keep it down." Craig whispered, heading straight for the stairs.

Tweek huffed and locked the door before following him, quietly mocking the other as they went.

When they reached his room Craig crawled into the bed, shivering, and pulled the blankets over himself. Tweek followed soon after, wincing at how cold he felt.

"S-sorry I didn't let you in sooner. You should've just c-called."

"S'okay." Craig mumbled, shifting closer and laying an arm over Tweek's stomach.

He shivered, but didn't move away, instead pressing his hands against Craig’s cheeks. He seemed happy at this, and hummed quietly, leaning into the touch.

"Why were you o-out so late?" Tweek asked.

Craig hummed again and shrugged, "Couldn't sleep. Wanted to see you."

Tweek's chest tightened – though not unpleasantly – and he smiled: had anyone else showed up at his house this late and freaked him out that badly, he probably would've told them to fuck off and go home. For Craig, though, he could make an exception.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for use of the F slur a couple of times in this one

Tweek's eyes flickered from his trembling fist to Stan's position on the floor. The other boy was holding his face and saying something – cursing, Tweek was sure – but he couldn't really hear it. The only sounds he was currently able to register were his heart thudding in his chest and his own racing thoughts.

Had that really just happened? Did he really just punch _Stan Marsh,_ of all people, in the face? Stan Marsh, who was on the football team and built like a brick house.

Judging by his aching hand, he had to go with yes. He had. He was probably going to die now. Stan was going to get up and beat him until –

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and flinched away from it, bringing his hands up to protect his face.

“Dude, what the hell happened?”

Oh. It was Craig. Maybe now Stan wouldn't kill him. Or maybe he'd just kill them both. Tweek thought the latter was more likely.

“I-I don't – he called you a f-fag and I j-just...” Tweek trailed off, once again glancing between his hand and Stan, who was now being helped up from the floor by Kyle.

“You punched him in the face because he called me a fag?” Craig asked, and Tweek could swear he was almost laughing.

“Y-yes? I think so – I don't r-really remember.” He confessed, tugging at his hair.

Now that he was able to think – and hear – clearly, Tweek suddenly realized that a crowd had gathered. They were all murmuring, and some of them were shouting – encouraging the fight, telling Stan to kick Tweek's ass and vice versa. He flinched again, suddenly wanting to be anywhere _but_ here.

“Can we go? I really w-wanna go.” He mumbled, hands gripping Craig's jacket tightly.

He nodded, wrapping one arm around Tweek's shoulders and using his free hand to flip everyone off.

 

-

 

“Dude, I can't believe you punched Stan in the face! Nice one!” Clyde exclaimed, clapping a hand against Tweek's back.

He stumbled, almost dropping his coffee, and scowled.

“I don't wanna talk about it.” He muttered, taking a sip from his drink.

“Aw c'mon dude, it's not that bad! Right, Token?”

“As much as I hate to say it, Clyde's right, Tweek.” Token said, grinning at the light punch he received, “It's no big deal, really. Stan'll be over it by tomorrow.”

“N-no he won't, dude! He's gonna kill me! He's gonna wait until I'm alone and b-beat me to death with a locker or something!”

“I don't think even Stan is that strong, Tweek. Besides, Craig can protect you! Right Craig?” Clyde asked.

“If he tries to hit you, I'll kill him.”

Clyde and Token laughed, but somehow, Tweek thought he was being serious.

 

-

 

Tweek could hear people chanting all the way from his locker, the mantra of “fight, fight, fight” growing louder and louder as he followed the sound. His stomach was tied in knots, his brain screaming at him to run the other way. After the other day, he thought if he was never in or near another fight, he would die happy. He forced his feet to keep moving. Something told him that he knew exactly who the two people standing at the center of that ring would be.

And he did, of course, because those people were Craig and Stan. It looked like they had been fighting for a while now; the skin around Stan's eye was already starting to bruise, darkening to match the one Tweek had left on his cheek. Craig's mouth was bleeding, and – was that a _tooth_ lying on the floor? Had Stan _knocked one of Craig's teeth out?_

He thought about pushing through the crowd and intervening, pulling Craig away as he'd done for Tweek. He thought about it, but somehow he couldn't make himself move. The fight was about him, he was sure, and what would Stan do if he suddenly stepped between the two? Attack him, probably. But Craig was used to fighting, unlike Tweek, and could handle it – probably. It did look like he'd lost a tooth, and –

And now Mr. Mackey was stepping into the circle, shouting at the two that “fighting is _bad,_ m'kay?” And hauling them off to the office.

Tweek watched, feeling the crowd disperse around him, hearing their dissatisfied grumbling, until he was alone in the hallway save for Token and Clyde, who had apparently noticed him and decided to hang back.

“Dude, his parents are gonna be _pissed._ This is like, his third fight with Stan this month.”

Token sighed, “Yeah, they really hate each other.”

“This is a-all my fault, dude! Craig's gonna get grounded b-because of me. Or g-go to jail! What if he g-gets sent to jail? Craig won't survive in jail, man!” Tweek cried, burying his face in his hands.

Tweek felt a hand patting his back and looked up to see Token smiling at him.

“Dude, it's fine _._ Craig's not gonna go to jail for some stupid fight. It was bound to happen anyway, whether you caused it or not.”

Tweek nodded, feeling a bit better, though his head was still swirling with thoughts of _Craig_ and _jail_ and the inevitable stabbing that would happen if he wound up there. He didn't get along well with others, after all, and – obviously – preferred to solve things with his fists instead of words. He would definitely wind up being stabbed, or beaten with a pillow case full of soap. Whatever they used in prison.

Tweek groaned and buried his face in his hands, and Token patted his back again.

 

-

 

It was eight o'clock when his door suddenly opened, and his mother's head poked in for a moment to announce he had a guest before letting said person in.

Tweek would have been angry; no one was supposed to come into his room without permission. His mother knew this – and why wasn't his door locked, anyway? But any anger he might have felt melted as soon as Craig walked through the door, sporting a split lip and black eye – one that would match Stan's pretty well, he thought.

“Craig? I thought you were g-grounded?” He asked.

“I am. I snuck out.” Craig said, making his way to Tweek's bed and flopping down.

“Ngh – y-you should go home. You're gonna get in more trouble.”

“You don't wanna see me?” Craig asked, shifting to place his head in Tweek’s lap.

“That’s not what I said, asshole.” He mumbled, reaching out with shaky hands to play with Craig’s hair.

After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Did one of your t-teeth get knocked out?”

“Yeah. I have to go to the dentist next week.” Craig said, rolling over and opening his mouth to show Tweek the hole where one of his molars had sat only hours before.

His tongue poked at it and came away slightly bloodied. Tweek grimaced.

“Gross.” He said, adding, “At least it's one of the b-back ones, though. It'd be pretty bad if one of your f-front teeth got knocked out.”

“Would you still love me?”

“I would still love you if you had n-no teeth. I probably wouldn't k-kiss you anymore, though.”


	4. Chapter 4

Craig ran his fingers through Tweek's hair – or tried to, at least. They kept getting stuck before he could reach the ends, and he frowned.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair?” He asked, gently tugging his fingers through knots as he met them.

Tweek hummed absently and shrugged, playing some game on his phone.

“I don't know, man, I lost my brush and I don't like using my mom's b-because the thought of her hair mixing with mine is – ngh – it's g- _gross_ , dude.” He mumbled.

Craig sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed to peek underneath it. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for, sitting half buried under a shirt and some papers.

Everything Tweek lost somehow wound up beneath his bed. Whether he kicked it there, put it there and forgot about it, or some unknown source – Tweek always blamed the underwear gnomes –  moved it, anything he lost could be found within minutes of checking under his bed. It made Craig wonder if Tweek technically even _could_ lose things.

He tossed Tweek the brush, and sighed when he barely spared it a glance.

“Tweek, brush your hair.”

“I'm i-in the middle of a game. It'll mess up my combo if I stop n-now.”

“If you don't brush it you'll get lice or something.” Craig warned.

Much to his surprise, Tweek simply grunted and continued playing.

Craig stared for a moment before picking the brush back up and returning to his seat behind Tweek. If he wasn't going to brush his hair himself, Craig would just do it for him. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd had to do it, or something similar. Tweek oftentimes forgot small things like this.

Tweek settled back, obviously knowing what was going on. Craig wouldn't be surprised if he'd ignored the mention of parasites on purpose to get out of having to do it himself. Tweek was a lot trickier than most gave him credit for.

Brushing Tweek's hair turned out to be a lot harder than Craig had first thought it would be, due both to the fact that it seemed like Tweek hadn't bothered doing anything with it for weeks, and he absolutely refused to cooperate. Every time Craig asked him to move his head, even the slightest bit, he would mumble something about getting a “perfect combo” and tell Craig to be quiet before he messed him up.

It was almost a half hour before he finally finished, and looked down at the brush he had been using with a scowl. It was completely clogged with Tweek's hair. It was a surprise he hadn't gone bald.

“Do you see this?” He asked, waving the brush in Tweek's face.

All he got in response was Tweek shrieking, “my combo” and tossing his phone to the other end of the bed with a groan. Craig rolled his eyes at Tweek’s decidedly over-dramatic reaction and waved the brush in his face once again.

“Tweek. Look at this. You have to brush your hair. You're gonna get lice, or it's gonna get so tangled you'll have to shave it or something. Do you _want_ to look like a skinhead?”

Tweek, although he was pointedly avoiding looking at Craig, shook his head, and Craig nodded, satisfied.

“Didn't think so.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Tweek crawled to the end of his bed and grabbed his phone, promptly returning to whatever game he'd been playing earlier. Craig watched over his shoulder, content now that he knew Tweek was taken care of.


	5. Chapter 5

When Craig walked into detention, the last person he expected to see was Tweek.

Craig got detention all the time – when you flipped off high school teachers, you got a little more than a lecture by the guidance counselor, as it turned out. Tweek, on the other hand, hadn't gotten in trouble since their little fight back in elementary. Even when he'd punched Stan in the face a few months back he hadn't gotten in trouble for it (having your ass kicked by Tweek, of all people, wasn't really something anyone would want to own up to).

But there he was, sitting next to Butters (whose presence was almost as odd as Tweek's) and playing with his thermos. Craig made his way over to them and took a seat next to Tweek, who seemed both relieved and embarrassed to see him. Butters, on the other hand, seemed just fine, and gave him an enthusiastic wave.

Craig returned it before turning back to Tweek. “What the hell did you do to get detention?”

Tweek glanced at him, red-faced and scowling, before turning back to his thermos. He rolled it over in his hands for a few moments before speaking.

“...I didn't mean to.”

“Didn't mean to what?”

“My coffee! I-I didn't mean to spill it on Mrs. Eisner, I just tripped and she w-was right there and it just – ngh! It wasn't on purpose!” Tweek's hands were shaking now, and Craig reached out to cover them with his own.

“Tweek, it's fine.”

“No it's not! My parents are gonna be so disappointed in me – they're probably gonna g-ground me and take my phone away, a-and, lock me in my room for a m-month! Two months!”

“I'm pretty sure that they're not gonna do any of that, dude. They probably won't even care.”

Tweek's shaking calmed a bit, and Craig looked over at Butters again, who was smiling at the two of them.

“What did _you_ do?”

“Ah, well, Mrs. Eisner was yellin' at Tweek and he looked real torn up about it, so I told her – well, I told her to knock it off. And she wasn't too happy about that, and she gave me detention too.”

Craig grinned; no matter what some people said about Butters, he was a good guy – and funny, too, whether he meant to be or not.


	6. Chapter 6

They were lying on the couch when Tweek's stomach rumbled. He twitched, but otherwise ignored it. Craig's eyes narrowed, and he watched him for a moment before speaking up.

"When was the last time you ate?"

It was usually easy to tell – for him, at least – when it had been a while. Tweek got paler, pissy, and looked exhausted. Well, more exhausted than usual, given that he never slept for more than three hours on a good night. He'd slipped up, apparently.

"Ngh – t-this morning. I had c-cereal."

A lie. Tweek was a terrible liar. He always avoided eye contact and started pulling at his hair when he did. His stutter got worse, too. He was so bad that even Clyde could tell when he wasn't being truthful. Craig didn't see why he even bothered trying.

"You need to eat." He sighed.

"I told you, I-I did this m-morning." Tweek insisted. His hand lifted to tug at his hair and Craig grabbed it before he could accidentally rip some of it out.

"Don't lie. You're bad at it." Craig said, standing up and pulling Tweek with him.

"Craig, I c-can't, I d-don't-"  
"Everything is fine, Tweek. You can watch me make everything, and I swear there's not gonna to be anything wrong with it. You need to eat something, though." Craig said, doing his best to sound soothing.

It seemed to work, and Tweek calmed down a bit.

He rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something suitable. Tweek, when he would eat, was extremely picky about what it could be. Most times it was only things he'd made himself, although he would allow his parents, or Craig, to make him something. Sometimes. And only if he could watch them make it, of course.

He pushed a package of hot dogs out of the way; Tweek refused to eat meat. The chances of him getting some kind of parasite were too high, he claimed. Craig thought they were probably slim to none, but last time he’d said that he had gotten a twenty-minute lecture.

He spent a few more minutes looking through the refrigerator before he gave up. All they really had were the hot dogs, and half a carton of eggs. They really needed to go grocery shopping soon. He sighed and stood up, turning to the cupboards instead. There he found a loaf of bread, and oatmeal. Good enough.

Tweek, of course, watched him prepare everything, although Craig really only had to pop one thing into the toaster and set the other on the stove. It would've been faster to microwave it, but Tweek refused to use them. Due to radiation, of course.

While Craig was stirring the oatmeal, Tweek set out to make coffee. It was the one thing he wouldn't let anyone else make for him – Craig had tried once, and the entire pot had been dumped out shortly after. He'd "done it all wrong", apparently.

The toast popped up. Tweek jumped and glared at the toaster. Craig smothered a laugh and pulled a plate out of the cupboard.

"It's n-not – ngh – funny. I hate that thing." He grumbled, plucking the toast out and throwing it haphazardly onto his plate.

"Well, there's not really any other way to make toast, so I guess you're stuck with it." Craig said.

"We could use the oven." Tweek mumbled, watching the coffee maker impatiently.

"You always burn yourself when you use the oven." He said absently, pulling the pot of oatmeal off of the stove and pouring it into a bowl.

He grimaced: He didn't see how Tweek could eat this shit. Especially plain. It looked like vomit. Or maybe that was just him.

"Do you want me to eat it or are you j-just gonna stare at it all day." Tweek whined.

Craig handed it over, noticing that the coffee was done. While the other went to sit down, Craig poured him a mug. This he could do because, like oatmeal, Tweek drank his coffee plain. And, just like oatmeal, Craig didn't understand how. Then again, he thought coffee tasted like shit no matter what, despite Tweek's efforts to convince him otherwise.

He joined Tweek at the table and was pleased to see he'd already eaten some of his toast. Not a lot, but anything was good. Craig didn't expect him to eat all of it – no, last time he'd done that it had been too much, and he'd thrown up almost immediately after. It would be enough if he even managed to get half the meal down.

For a while they sat in silence, Tweek eating slowly, and Craig simply watching him, until the former spoke up.

"I'm s-sorry I lied to you." He mumbled.

"It's okay." Craig said. He understood – sort of.

"I just thought it w-was – I don't know; I g-guess I-"

"I know."

Tweek let out a shuddering sigh and returned to his food. Craig watched him.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, but just h-hear me out man. What if the government already has the technology t-to make advanced robots, and they're putting some of them out with the regular humans f-for testing! If the AI is advanced enough t-they'd blend right in, and-"

Craig pressed another kiss to Tweek's neck, effectively shutting him up – for a moment.

Tweek pushed him away and scowled, "I'm talking about serious s-stuff here, dude! Like, what if you're an android. How would I ever know the d-difference?"

Craig sighed and flopped down next to him.

"I'm not an android, Tweek. I got into a fight with Stan Marsh last week and I was bleeding all over the place. Robots don't bleed."

"Okay, but, what if they j-just put you here, and they planted the memories of the fight in our heads, and – and maybe you don't even know you're a robot! Maybe I'm one! Maybe they're trying to see how well we can blend in with the h-humans, so they can use us in the w-war or something." He hissed, leaning closer to Craig

The brunette shook his head, "Tweek, I promise you, we're not robots. Even if we are, who cares? It's not like we know the difference."

"That's n-not the point." Tweek moaned, throwing himself back dramatically.

He loved Craig, but sometimes he just couldn't see the bigger picture.


	8. Chapter 8

Craig could feel Tweek rolling around on the bed next to him, and he smiled as he watched smoke drift toward the ceiling.

“Hey...hey Craig.” The blond giggled, and Craig felt a hand patting at his face.

“Hm?”

“Do the thing...the ring thing.”

Craig grinned and pushed away Tweek's hand, which had continued its exploration of his face.

“Mmm...only if you say the magic word.”

He felt the bed shift again and suddenly Tweek was flopping onto Craig's stomach. The brunette let out a huff of air and struggled to regain it, grimacing as the blond let out a string of giggles.

“Is the magic word...Craig's a douche?” He asked, giggling again.

Craig rolled his eyes, sitting up and shifting the smaller teen's weight onto his lap.

“That's three words, so...no.” He said, reaching down to fiddle with Tweek's hair.

Tweek shook his head and scowled, batting Craig's hand away.

“You're not allowed to touch me until you do the thing.” He mumbled, pointedly turning his gaze to the wall.

“If you're gonna be a brat about it.” Craig said, lightly pinching the blond's cheek.

Tweek's mood seemed to do an immediate one-eighty, and he sat up, grinning.

The brunette couldn't help but smile at Tweek's enthusiasm. It wasn't like he hadn't been expecting it, though. Every time they got high he demanded to see Craig do the “ring thing”, as if it was the most amazing sight on earth. Craig had tried to teach him how to do it, once, but somehow the blond just couldn't figure it out – he'd complained, anyway, that it wouldn't be the same. It was only cool if Craig himself was the one doing it, apparently.

After spending at least five minutes blowing rings around – he'd tried to stop after the first couple, but of course Tweek had thrown a fit – he settled back into the bed, content to watch smoke as it curled from his mouth and towards the ceiling.

He felt Tweek moving around again, this time wiggling his way up Craig's body, having also fallen into a fresh fit of laughter.

The brunette let out a laugh of his own; getting high with Tweek was always more fun than with Token or Clyde. That wasn't to say he didn't have fun with the others, of course, but all Clyde ever wanted to do was eat, and Token always passed out. Tweek, though, seemed to mellow out and speed up simultaneously. His paranoia went away – or lessened, at least – and all he ever wanted to do was roll around or laugh or climb all over whoever was closest.

Like right now. He had finally made it up the mountain that was Craig, and was currently pressing sloppy kisses against the other's neck and face.

“You have terrible aim.” He commented as one of Tweek's kisses went just off to the side of his mouth.

“Maybe your stupid face is just really big.” Tweek muttered, finally managing to land a kiss on Craig's lips.

Craig hummed and smiled, “Maybe.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Her nearest relations had been induced to place their savings in her f-father's hands, and though, after his death, they u-ungrudgingly acquitted themselves of the Christian duty of...” Tweek trailed off and glared at Craig, whose head was currently resting against the blond's coffee table.

“Are you even l-listening to me?” He asked.

“Mhm.”

“What was I talking about?”

“Mmm...fathers doing their Christian duty?” Craig ventured a guess, lifting his head from the table and propping it on his arm. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Tweek had no doubt he'd dozed off for a while.

“Ugh, d-dude! I've been reading for, like, an hour! You have to p-pay attention or you're gonna – ngh – you're gonna fail AP!” Tweek exclaimed, nervously pulling at his hair.

If Craig failed English he wouldn't have enough credits to graduate, and if he didn't graduate he would drop out of school and end up living in his parents' basement for the rest of his life. On top of that, he'd probably blame Tweek for not trying hard enough, and hate him. Of course, if Craig hated him so would Token and Clyde, and then Tweek would die alone.

He let out a choked cry and yanked viciously at his hair – and then let out another, louder this time, when said hair was torn from his head. He stared down at the clump in disbelief; it wasn't unusual for him to pull his own hair out, but this was a lot.

“Dude! L-look what you made me do!” He shoved the hair in Craig's direction, and was almost tempted to laugh at the brunette's facial expression. Almost.

“Holy shit, Tweek,” Craig said, standing and coming around the table to inspect the blond's head.

Craig took a seat next to him, and a moment later Tweek felt a gentle hand carding through his hair. After a bit of inspection Craig's hand fell away, and he hummed, apparently satisfied that he hadn't done anything more than surface damage.

“How the hell is this my fault, anyway?”

“Because if you don't study you'll fail, and i-if you fail you're gonna end up living in your parents' b-basement and hating me! A-and Clyde and Token will hate me too, and I'll die.” Tweek's hand had found its way to his head again, though Craig was quick to pull it away before he could remove anymore of his own hair.

“Okay, first off, I'm not gonna fail English because I didn't read one chapter of...” He paused to look over the cover of the book, “ _Ethan Frome_. So, no, I won't end up living in my parents' basement, and me and Token and Clyde won't hate you. And even if I hated you – which I won't,” He added quickly, “Clyde and Token would pick you over me any day. I'm an asshole.”

Tweek was silent for a moment, willing the last wisps of panic to leave him. If Craig said things would be fine, then things would be fine. He heaved a shuddering sigh and leaned against Craig's shoulder.

“O-okay.” Another beat of silence, then, “Um...h-how bad is my hair?”

Craig looked at his head again and grimaced, “It...could be worse? I mean, your hair's always a mess anyway so if you just...” He trailed off, looking deep in concentration as he attempted to fix it.

“Yeah, it's okay now. You can't even tell.” Craig said, finally finished with his adjustments.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Tweek sighed again, relaxing against the brunette once again.

“Thanks.”


	10. Chapter 10

“It's _fine,_ Tweek, you d-don't _need_ sunscreen.” Tweek muttered, hissing as he poked at the now cherry red skin of his arm. The majority of his body was the same color, and it _hurt._

He heard Craig sigh behind him, and rolled over onto his back – wincing as he did so – to glare at him.

“This is your fault, dude. You're the one who t-told me I didn't need it. I should've listened to Token.”

“I didn't think you were gonna burn this bad. It's your fault for never going outside.”

“ _My fault?_ ” Tweek asked incredulously, “ _I_ wanted to put sunscreen on! I'm not Peruvian like you, dude! I'm white! I don't tan, I _burn._ ”

“ _Pobrecito.”_ Craig said, rolling his eyes. He was smiling a little, though, and Tweek rolled back onto his stomach with a huff.

“You know I can't understand Spanish.” He mumbled into his arms, scowling when he heard Craig laugh.

Alright, so, maybe part of the reason he burned so easily was because he never went outside, but it was _dangerous_ out there _._ He hadn't even wanted to go to the beach that day, but of course Clyde had showed up at his house – unannounced – with Craig and Token in tow, and had dragged him off with little choice in the matter.

It _had_ been fun, though, he was willing to admit that much – before the whole sunburn part. Playing volleyball with Clyde to help him “impress some beach babes” and completely destroying him and Craig was hilarious. Watching Craig throw Clyde into the lake afterwards for “completely sucking” had been even funnier. Building a sandcastle only to have it be destroyed by “Clyde-zilla” shortly after, splashing around in the water, laying in the sun; it was probably the best beach day he'd ever had.

Until he'd woken up this morning with what was possibly the worst sunburn of his life. And then Craig had come over, and now he was sitting here and blaming it on Tweek.

There was a short knock on the door, and both boys turned to see Tweek's mother peeking into the room.

“Tweek, sweetheart, I brought you some lotion for your sunburn.”

“Oh, t-thanks, mom.” Tweek said, starting to carefully lift himself from the bed.

Craig beat him to it, though, taking the lotion from Tweek's mom with his special smile reserved for parents – the one that made him look like he _wasn't_ a complete asshole. His mom gave Craig one of her not-really-there smiles in return before wandering off.

Craig returned to the bed, turning the bottle over in his hand.

“Babyganics-”

Tweek rolled over and snatched the bottle from Craig's hand with a scowl. It was too late, though; Craig had already read the label and was practically in hysterics.

“Stop laughing, dude! It's not that funny!”

“Tweek, you – you use _baby lotion._ It's fucking _hilarious._ ”

“It's not baby lotion-”

“It's literally called _Babyganics._ ”

Tweek scowled again and turned so he didn't have to watch Craig laughing at him. It didn't help much, seeing as Tweek could still _hear_ him, sitting back there and laughing so hard he had started wheezing. He glared down at the bottle, wishing his mother had brought him something – _anything -_ else.

“Tweek.”

He pointedly kept his eyes glued to the bottle, scanning over the list of ingredients in case anything had changed.

“Tweek, I'm sorry I laughed at your sensitive skin.” Craig snickered.

“I hate you.” He mumbled.

“Sure you do.”


	11. Chapter 11

"Dude, this isn't even fair! You must be cheating or something." Clyde whined from his seat on the couch.

"I'm not cheating, y-you just suck at video games." Tweek said.

Token, who was sitting next to Clyde, snickered, and Tweek felt Craig's chest shake with silent laughter.

"I _do not._ "

"Yeah, you kind of do, dude," Token said, "It's okay, though, we still love you."

"I don't." Craig mumbled, and now it was Tweek's turn to smother a laugh.

Tweek had come over expecting to watch a movie, as the group usually did on Saturday's, but had arrived to find them all playing some game, instead. He hadn't minded much, and at first was content to sit between Craig's legs and watch. After a while, though, Clyde had _insisted_ he play as well. Token had the new whatever, and it was just "so cool" and, "seriously the best".

He'd been hesitant at first, never having played whatever game it was they were all so interested in – _Call of Duty_ , probably, or something similar – and he wasn't a big fan of loud noises. One could only listen to Clyde's whining for so long, however, and eventually he'd agreed to play a round.

As it turned out, he was surprisingly good. Much better than Clyde (although that wasn't much of an accomplishment, in all honesty), and on even footing with Token.

Craig had them all beat, though. He was quiet about it, unlike Clyde, who yelled every time he managed to take someone out, and Tweek, who cried out every time he died. Even Token let out a quiet curse, or sound of triumph every once in a while.

Tweek took his eyes off of the screen for a moment to glance up at his boyfriend. The other, after a moment, seemed to sense his gaze, and looked down with a smile.

"You know I just killed you, right?"


	12. Chapter 12

Tweek Tweak did not get enough sleep.

Which was an understatement, of course.

The longest he'd gone without waking up was a whopping seven hours. The longest he'd gone without sleeping at all was four days.

Craig tried to make him sleep more, but his efforts usually came to nothing. Tweek, on top of having terrible insomnia and downing pot after pot of coffee, just flat out _hated_ sleep. Craig didn't understand why; to him, sleeping was great. You didn't have to think or worry or _do_ anything. You just laid there, and sometimes your brain came up with some nonsense to entertain you with.

Tweek, however, thought that sleeping was a waste of time – and dangerous. You couldn't defend yourself while sleeping, he said, and on top of that there was so much to _miss._ Someone dying, someone being born, the new episode of your favorite TV show. It was too much _pressure,_ he said, the thought of missing something important.

He never mentioned nightmares, but Craig knew there was that, too.

Sometimes he woke Craig up, thrashing around and moaning. Usually it was just easy stuff – monsters in the closet or falling through empty space. Occasionally, though, he'd have an especially bad one. One where his mom or dad, or Craig or one of the others would die, and he'd wake up crying. Craig would have to sit up with him until he calmed down, reassuring him that no one had died, everyone was safe, everything was fine.

Those were the bad nights, though. On good nights, when there were no monsters or death, Tweek slept like the dead. Nothing short of an earthquake could wake him up, and he always looked extremely peaceful.

In these short hours of serenity, Craig sometimes liked to watch him. It was a little creepy, he knew – which was why he never told anyone about it. It was just comforting, to see him sleeping. Not tugging at his hair, or biting his lips or scratching himself.

Calm in a way that not even Craig could make him.

He always felt a bit sad, watching Tweek sleep. The difference between his waking and unconscious self was so vast that it was hard to think he'd be up soon, jerky and nervous and droopy-eyed from a perpetual lack of sleep.

He wished he could do something. He didn't want to 'fix' Tweek; no, nothing like that. 'Fixing' Tweek would make him into someone else. He wouldn't be Tweek anymore. Not the person Craig loved.

Still, he wished he could do something to help. Make the nightmares go away, or keep him from tearing out his hair when he got stressed.

Tweek frowned and shifted, his hand clenching around Craig's shirt before relaxing. For a moment, the brunette thought he might go back to sleep – no such luck, however.

The blond yawned and blinked up at Craig, squinting slightly in the dim room.

“Craig...? Are you a-awake?” He asked.

Craig considered, for a brief moment, lying and pretending to be asleep. He knew it was too late, though, and he didn't like lying to Tweek anyway.

“Yeah.” He said quietly, pushing a stray hair out of the blond's face.

“Were you – were you watching me sleep?”

“...yeah.”

“Craig...that's weird.”

He wasn't one to be embarrassed easily, but at this he felt his face heat up. When Tweek started telling him the things he did were weird, he knew they _really_ were. He sighed retracted his hand, “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“Ngh – it's okay. I watch you sleep sometimes, t-too.”

Craig huffed out a laugh and pulled Tweek closer, his smile growing larger as he felt a smaller set of arms wrap around his midsection.

“Craig?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Craig, h-hurry up!” Tweek called.

“I'm coming, I'm coming.” He mumbled, yanking his hat down further over his ears.

He didn't see why Tweek was in such a hurry; it was freezing out, and they'd already missed the bus. They were going to have to walk, which might not have been so bad if it was summer. It only took about ten minutes to get there on foot, but it seemed a lot longer when you couldn't feel your arms or legs.

Tweek was standing near the door, shifting his thermos from one hand to another and anxiously glancing at the clock.

Craig spared it a glance as well, surprised to see that it read seven fifty-five. He guessed he could see now why Tweek was so nervous. They were going to get to school with barely any time to spare, and while Craig didn't really mind being late, Tweek was always, _always_ early. To everything.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs Tweek was opening the door, shooting out into the cold without a second thought. Craig, after a moment of hesitation, followed him out.

He'd tried to convince Tweek to skip school with him today so they could just hang out and sleep, but of course he'd been denied. Tweek had said that if they skipped a truant officer would _definitely_ show up, and then they'd both be thrown in jail for a _minimum_ of three years.

Craig thought it was unlikely, but seeing as Tweek almost certainly wasn't going to listen, they were both now stuck walking to school in the freezing cold. And Tweek, he suddenly realized, wasn't wearing a coat.

“Dude, you didn't put a coat on.” He said.

“I couldn't – ngh – I couldn't f-find it.” Tweek stuttered. Whether it was from the cold or just his usual trouble, Craig couldn't tell.

“Did you actually look for it?” He asked.

Judging by the sheepish glance he received, he doubted it. It was more likely that he'd simply forgotten it in his rush to get dressed and make coffee while still being able to leave the house on time to get to school without being late.

Craig sighed and pulled his coat off, shoving it into the other's hands.

“Craig, I'm n-not gonna t-take your coat. It's c-cold.”

“Yeah, it is. And you're small. So just put it on.” He said, tugging his hat down once again as the wind threatened to take it from him.

He was very surprised when he found his coat being thrown back in his face.

“I'm _not_ t-taking it.”

Craig's eyes narrowed, and Tweek, seeming to realize his plan, tried to take off. Tried. It was probably kind of hard to run when you couldn't feel your legs.

There was a short, weak – on Tweek's part – struggle as Craig forcibly tucked the smaller teen into the coat. Afterwards, he wondered how Tweek had managed to keep a hold on his thermos the whole time.

“C-Craig! I d-don't want y-your coat!” Tweek cried.

“I don't _care,_ you asshole, you're gonna pneumonia or something!” He said, exasperated.

Tweek settled down almost immediately. It was probably the mention of getting sick, that did it. Craig wished he would have thought of that earlier – it would have saved a lot of energy.

The rest of the walk was slow and quiet as Craig wondered how Tweek had managed to make it even two minutes in nothing but a shirt. A long sleeved shirt, but just a shirt, nonetheless.

By the time they'd made it to the school his teeth were chattering and his fingers were numb. When Tweek handed him his coat again, he took it gratefully – it didn't make much difference now that they were here, but it would probably help him warm up faster.

“This is w-why you don't sleep in until s- _seven_ _forty,_ man.” Tweek said, and Craig couldn't help but agree.


End file.
